


Dangerous Game

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [7]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 16:23:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Doctor Bashir suffers a psychic attack from a mysterious alien, leaving him incapacitated and with the Bajorans in full control of the infirmary. Garak quickly discovers just how little influence he has without Julian's advocacy, and tension mounts high. Can Odo find a way to interrupt the growing cycle of enmity between the tailor and Nurse Decla before it turns deadly?





	Dangerous Game

**Part I**  
   
_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
Garak hummed to himself as he tidied up for the end of the day. In a good mood, he was looking forward to Julian's upcoming birthday party, even if Julian himself was feeling extraordinarily grumpy about turning thirty.  _Thirty, ha!_  he thought to himself. If he was so bent out of shape about thirty, he wondered how he'd feel about fifty. He was rather enjoying the other side of that landmark, even if it did mean that he put on weight more easily than he once had. Humans were so backwards about so many things that the age issue should have come as no surprise.  
   
“G—Garak!” Rom's voice startled him out of his thoughts, the Ferengi waiter hurrying toward him quickly.  
   
“What is it?” he asked, concerned. He had rarely seen the man so anxious.  
   
“You have to come,” Rom told him, seizing him by the elbow and drawing him toward the door. “I just heard from Morn that something has happened to Doctor Bashir!”  
   
“Where is he?” Garak asked tightly, no longer needing Rom's prompting to hurry.  
   
“In the infirmary,” he answered.  
   
“What happened?” he asked, trying to stay calm. With such little information to go on, panic was premature.  
   
“We're not sure. Odo is keeping it to himself, but it has something to do with that Lethean that was being so pushy with Quark earlier today. I saw him being dragged into the security office.”  
   
The Lethean. Garak felt himself go cold. From the moment Quark brought the hideous alien to their table, Garak had a bad feeling about him. He hadn't liked the way he stared at his doctor after Julian flatly refused to sell him contraband.  _I should have followed him,_  he berated himself silently. A more insidious thought followed closely after.  _I should have killed him._  
   
As they reached the infirmary, both men tried to hurry inside. They found themselves stopped cold by two burly male Bajoran nurses. “Sorry,” the darker haired of the two said, looking straight at Garak. “We're under strict orders not to let you in.”  
   
“Orders? Whose orders?” Garak demanded.  
   
“My orders,” a familiar voice said from behind the second nurse. Nurse Decla stepped into view. “You're a security risk. With the doctor unable to fulfill his duties, I'm in charge of this infirmary.” She glanced at Rom. “You can come in, but you can't see the patient.”  
   
Rom shot a darting glance from her to Garak. “Wh—Why would I want to come in if I can't see Doctor Bashir?”  
   
“That's a good question,” she said, one corner of her mouth curving up in a condescending half smile. “Perhaps you should stay out of our way if you can't find an adequate answer.”  
   
Garak shot her and the Bajorans blocking his way a look that could freeze lava. Perhaps sensing trouble, Rom plucked at his elbow insistently. “Come on,” he said urgently. “Garak? You need to come with me.”  
   
In his mind's eye, he had already felled all three of them with a complex move he learned long ago, his training so thorough that his hands and feet could move completely independently of one another in lethal maneuvers that were difficult for most other races to adapt to. He took one step forward, only to find Rom squarely in his path, his toothy mouth agape in dismay. “Garak!” he said in a tone of voice the Cardassian had never heard from him before. It got his attention. His gaze slid to meet deep-set blue eyes, rounded with fear, not of him, he realized, but for him. The Ferengi shook his head very slightly, and his concern reached something in Garak that anger and fear could not.  
   
The crisis passed, for the moment. He felt his lethal intent give way, although he knew it hadn't gone far. It was waiting for him to call it back at any time. He allowed Rom to take him by the shoulders and turn him away, completely pliant to his direction until they were far enough from the infirmary not to be watched or overheard. “Let go of my arm,” he said with deadly calm.  
   
The man did so immediately, but he said in a low, intent voice, “Whatever you're thinking, don't. They're not worth the trouble you'll get into. Look at me, Garak. Promise me,” he said.  
   
Garak's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Haven't you heard? I can't be trusted.” He walked for the turbo lift, grateful that the Ferengi had stopped following him. He knew he meant well, but in his current state of mind, he feared he would say or do something to him that he wouldn't easily be able to take back. Once in the lift, he directed it to Ops.  
   
As he stepped off the lift, he noticed Dax, Kira, and O'Brien all glance at one another. By some unspoken agreement, Dax moved to intercept. “Garak,” she said, striding over to him and addressing him in a low voice, “you can't be here. You know that.”  
   
“No, apparently the only time I can be here is when the station is about to be flooded with deadly gas thanks to inept Starfleet poking around, and the rest of you don't know what to do with yourselves,” he said acidly. “Then, of course, I'm a welcome sight.”  
   
She winced slightly. “I'm sorry,” she said in such a way that he believed she meant it. Not that it mattered. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”  
   
“I need to speak to Commander Sisko,” he said, setting his feet the moment she tried to get him to move.  
   
She glanced over at Kira who gave a subtle nod. “All right,” she said, turning and falling into step with him as he crossed the work area.  
   
_What do they think I'm going to do?_  he wondered contemptuously.  _Look at the control panels? They're already Cardassian technology, outdated Cardassian technology at that._  
   
He climbed the steps to the office and paused when she touched his shoulder lightly. “Let me let him know you're coming,” she said, hurrying ahead into the office. He waited in stony silence for longer than he felt was appropriate under the circumstances. When she came out again, she said, “Go on in.” She shot him a look that he supposed was meant to be supportive. He was too angry for gratitude.  
   
The doors parted to admit him. “Commander,” he began immediately, “this is an utter outrage.” His voice thrummed with suppressed emotion. While he was not shouting, the words had no less impact for lack of volume.  
   
Sisko, already standing, circled his desk to Garak's side of it to face him. “Slow down, Mr. Garak,” he said, his baritone pitched to calm him. “Tell me what's going on.”  
   
“Oh, Commander, really!” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Don't try to play games with me, now of all times. A security risk? You're going to toss that flimsy excuse to keep me away from my l...from Doctor Bashir's side when something has happened to him?”  
   
Sisko reacted with what seemed like genuine surprise. He hadn't known, or he was a much better actor than Garak had given him credit for up until now. “A security risk? I know you find it difficult to trust me, but you have to believe me when I tell you I don't know what you're talking about.”  
   
“That Bajoran harpy, Decla,” he spat, “refusing me entrance to the infirmary.” So great was his outrage, that for a few moments, he couldn't even speak. Too many words vied for expression all at once. “She said that with the doctor no longer in charge, she has final say as to who is admitted and who is not.”  
   
The Commander frowned deeply, folding his arms and lifting a hand to rub at his chin. “Unfortunately,” he said heavily, “she's telling the truth about that. She does have that authority.”  
   
“But it's a flimsy excuse to promulgate a personal vendetta against me!” Garak said, no longer able to contain his volume. “How can I be any more of a security risk in the infirmary than anywhere else on this station? If Doctor Bashir's condition is too fragile for visitors, that's one thing. Of course I'd respect that, but this? This is something else entirely, and it cannot be tolerated!”  
   
“Please, calm down,” Sisko said, gesturing with both hands flat, palms down. “I sympathize with your position. I truly do. I'll be willing to talk to Nurse Decla, but I can't make any promises. I don't have the authority to override her judgment in this matter.”  
   
“How convenient!” Garak spat. “It seems Starfleet exerts plenty of authority whenever it wishes, only to retreat behind protocol and platitudes the moment it's faced with a situation with which it would just as soon not get involved.”  
   
“Mr. Garak,” Sisko said sharply, “I said I'd do what I can. I'm sorry I can't do what I know you want me to do, march in there and order Decla and the other Bajorans to stand down. I share your outrage at the possible reasoning behind the decision, but even as Commander of this station, my hands are tied!”  
   
He stared hard into the dark eyes and felt himself deflate slightly. It was true. No matter what he wanted them to do, they weren't going to do any more than their toothless protocol allowed. “It won't make a difference,” he said stiffly, clinging to the only thing he had left to him at that moment, his pride.  
   
Sisko seemed to deflate a bit at this as well. “You're probably right,” he conceded. “I'll still try.”  
   
“Thank you, Commander,” Garak said, inclining his head formally. “Can you at least tell me how he is?”  
   
“He's unconscious,” the man replied. “At the moment, I don't know any more than that. I'll head over there now,” he offered, gesturing Garak out ahead of him.  
   
The Cardassian paused. “Commander, if I may, I'd like to speak to Major Kira.”  
   
Sisko considered a moment and nodded. “Wait here. I'll send her in to you.”  
   
He did so, lacing his hands tightly behind his back, fingers clasped together. He had to keep them contained, or he'd do something rash. He could see Kira ascending the steps and braced himself for further confrontation.  
   
“Garak,” she said the moment she had passed the threshold, “I know what you're going to ask me, and I can't do it.”  
   
“Can't,” he said frostily, “or won't?”  
   
She narrowed her black eyes. “Look!” she said sharply. “You and I have had our differences. Still do, but it's not fair for you to stand there and accuse me of standing by and letting this happen when you have no idea of the politics of the situation or the shitstorm it would cause if I were to try to override this woman. This goes way beyond one petty bitch, you, and Julian. I'm sorry, but it does.”  
   
He understood difficult politics better than most. He reflected that the night Decla had boasted to him of her connections, it was no idle claim. “I'm sorry, Major,” he said, much subdued. “I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that.”  
   
Turbulent emotion roiled very close to the surface in her expressive eyes. “I wish I could help,” she said, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I know how hard this is for you. I went through something similar with Winn pushing Antos.”  
   
“I know you do, and did,” he said, his mind already moving forward to his next option. “Maybe there is something you can do, after all. How does your Provisional Government feel about Odo?”  
   
“They trust him,” she said. “He has been invaluable to us since the Cardassians...since the end of the occupation.”  
   
“So if Odo were in the presence of someone declared a security risk...”  
   
Kira smiled tightly. “No one could reasonably object without throwing his entire career into question, something not even Decla could do without costing herself some support.”  
   
Garak nodded, moving for the doors. “Will you please inform the Constable that I'm on my way to see him?”  
   
“I will,” she said. She stopped him briefly with a light hand to his forearm. “Don't do anything stupid, OK? If anything happens to Decla, you'll be the first person they look at after this.”  
   
“Don't worry, Major,” Garak said tightly. “I wish that one a very long, very miserable life. Your concern is appreciated.” He strode from Ops with his head up, his bearing regal. He wouldn't allow any of them to see the gnawing, clawing desperation mounting with every road block thrown in his way to seeing with his own two eyes what had happened to his lover. If Odo also told him no, he'd be back to option one without a friend there to stop him.  
   
The shape shifter was waiting for him in Security. “Major Kira apprised me of the situation,” he said. “Unless Decla manages to come up with a better reason, I'm not going to allow her to do this to you.”  
   
The stolid offer of support came close to undoing his control. As he fell into step beside the security chief, he wondered how it was that kindness could be so much more emotionally devastating than cruelty. He inclined his head deeply, in that moment not at all willing to trust his voice. The two walked nearly shoulder to shoulder, arriving at the infirmary only to see the same nurses guarding the front. When the two saw Odo, they glanced at one another uncertainly.  
   
“I understand there's some concern about a security risk,” Odo said in saccharine tones. “As you can see, I'm here to ensure nothing untoward happens while Mr. Garak visits the infirmary. I suggest you stand aside.”  
   
“We're under strict orders,” one of them said tentatively. The other shook his head and stepped out of the way, seeming to know when to quit. Garak ignored both men as though they weren't even there. If he allowed himself to meet either of them eye to eye, he didn't trust what he'd do.  
   
Decla spotted the two of them from the hallway leading to the surgery room. She strode forward quickly. “Constable Odo,” she said, “this is highly irregular.”  
   
“Indeed it is, Madame,” Odo said, his steely look matching his tone. “Is Doctor Bashir's condition so critical that he can't be allowed any visitors?”  
   
“I'm not at liberty to reveal details of a patient's condition,” she said smoothly.  
   
“Then we'll have a look for ourselves,” Odo said, brushing past her and pulling Garak in his wake with a solid grip to his upper arm.  
   
She took a few trotting steps and positioned herself in front of both of them again. “Not while I'm here you won't,” she said firmly. “You may have authority out there,” she gestured toward the Promenade, “but this is my domain. If you have a problem with how I'm handling a critical case, feel free to contact the Bajoran Medical Board and file a formal complaint. I'm told they've been working on their backlog. Your petition has a good chance of being heard by the end of the year.”  
   
“You can be sure that is exactly what I intend to do,” Odo said, turning around and pulling Garak with him. The Cardassian tried to resist, but he could tell by the tightness of the grip that if Odo felt that he needed to drag him physically from the facility, that was exactly what was about to happen. He yielded, only to prevent giving Decla the satisfaction of seeing him manhandled.  
   
Once they were back out on the Promenade, he shook himself free. “So that's it?” he demanded, his voice more shrill than he intended for it to be. “She says go, and you walk out?”  
   
The changeling dropped his voice and leaned closer. “You heard her. While she's there. She can't stay there indefinitely. She has to leave at some point, get some sleep. We'll try again with whoever she leaves in charge.”  
   
“It won't matter,” Garak said, ready to tear his own hair out from frustration. “They all hate me, every last one of those Bajoran staff members. They resent our relationship. They think he's too good for me. They've been waiting for the chance to do something to put me in my place. Now that they have it, there's no way they're going to relinquish their advantage.”  
   
“I'm not giving up,” Odo said staunchly. “Neither should you.”  
   
Commander Sisko emerged from the infirmary and walked over to the two of them. Garak could tell by his expression what he was going to say before he said it. “I'm not going to ask what you did to garner such animosity,” he told Garak, “but that woman is bound and determined that you not be given access to the doctor. Unfortunately, without good cause, I can't override her, can't have her removed, and can't go over her head with the Bajorans.”  
   
“Even if you did, they wouldn't listen,” Garak said. “They'll never side with a Cardassian over one of their own, no matter how wrong she is. I'm their token, a convenient target for all of their resentment over the wrongs they suffered during the occupation.”  
   
Sisko frowned deeply. “I doubt that every Bajoran feels that way. Not all of them will be willing to forget that you were at Vedek Bareil's funeral or how much you risked to be there.”  
   
“Please, Commander,” Garak said tiredly, reaching up to rub at his temples. A headache was coming on. “Good news and goodwill both die quick deaths. We both know that.”  
   
“I'll talk to Major Kira,” Sisko said.  
   
“No,” Garak shook his head. “She told me there's nothing she can do.”  
   
“Perhaps she'll see things a little differently if I ask,” he suggested.  
   
“No,” Garak said more sharply. “I don't want her to feel pressured to do something that will put her in an awkward position.” At Odo's look of surprise, he continued. “Who knows when she may need her political capital, or for what? No, as much as the situation pains me, I can't ask the Major to sacrifice any advantage she may have over my personal concern. There's nothing of value that I could give her in return.”  
   
“You saved her life already,” Odo said simply.  
   
“Please, Constable,” Garak snorted softly. “You and I both know that was no noble act.”  
   
The changeling tightened his lipless mouth to a thinner line than normal. Glancing from Garak to the Commander, he said, “I'll talk to Major Kira. Perhaps between the two of us, we can come up with something. In the mean time,” he pinned Garak with a very keen gaze, “don't do anything rash. While you have my every sympathy for the unfairness of this situation, I will not tolerate your breaking the law or harming Nurse Decla or any of her staff members. Don't make me have to lock you up.”  
   
Garak nodded, not willing to verbalize any sort of agreement to that effect. Odo would hear it for the lie it was as soon as it left his lips. While he wasn't yet back to the point of doing anything that drastic, he knew it wouldn't take much to get him there. Shaking his head as though he knew he had wasted his breath, Odo strode quickly away, leaving Garak alone with Commander Sisko.  
   
“I was able to see him,” Sisko said more gently than he had ever spoken to Garak before. The Cardassian stiffened, detesting so much as a whiff of pity sent his way. “He's not visibly injured. As of yet, we're not one hundred percent sure of what has been done to him, although we have our suspicions.”  
   
Garak knew. It was a psychic attack. Letheans were notorious for them. He felt his hands clenching spasmodically and had to fight to relax them again. He wanted nothing more than his fingers around that ugly throat to squeeze until it was pulp. It wouldn't help. If anything, it would make things much worse. If the alien died while part of his consciousness was delving into Julian's mind, the psychic backlash would quickly kill Julian as well. No, that wasn't the answer, although if Julian did die, it just might be the last thing Garak ever did. He could give his lover no comfort and support, but he could give him revenge.  
   
“Garak?” Sisko said, clearly not liking the look in his eyes.  
   
“I'm sorry, Commander,” he said mildly. “I'm developing a migraine. I should probably rest for a while. I trust that if the Constable and Major Kira work something out, I'll be contacted?”  
   
“Immediately,” Sisko said. “You have my word on that.”  
   
“Thank you, Commander,” he said, inclining his head and watching the man head toward the turbo lift. It was strange to him, knowing that he could take at face value something a human authority figure said to him. Were he dealing with a legate or even a gul, he knew he could have no such assurances.  _Strange creatures, humans._  
   
He waited until the man was out of sight and turned toward Quark's Bar. At the last moment, he decided on a different ingress, taking the stairs two at a time to the second level of the Promenade and ducking in through one of the smaller side doors. His eyes adapted very quickly to the lower light level. He saw Nog stationed near the front door, looking expectantly outward. So the uncle was expecting this visit. It didn't matter. Nothing short of Odo and a full contingent of Bajoran security guards was going to stop him from this.  
   
He wove between tables as silently and sinuously as a cobra that some Terrans claimed Cardassians resembled with their scales and flared necks. Scanning the bar from his shadowed vantage of the balcony, he saw Quark at the very far end of it, nervously drying a glass and looking toward Nog.  _Good,_  he thought,  _keep looking for just a moment longer._  
   
He was down the stairs, over the bar, and on the hapless Ferengi before anyone even knew he was there except Morn, who was too startled to say a word. He bunched both fists into Quark's jacket and yanked him clean off his feet. “You!” he growled in a voice he barely recognized as his own. “You brought that piece of filth to our table knowing fully well that the doctor wouldn't do what he asked!”  
   
“Garak!” Quark squeaked. “P—please! You have to believe me! I had no idea what he intended to do!”  
   
“He's a Lethean! What did you think he would do?” Garak bellowed, shaking him so hard he could hear the man's sharp teeth clacking together.  
   
“Uncle!” Nog shouted from somewhere off to his left, “do you want me to call Security?”  
   
At Garak's look of potentially lethal intent, Quark quickly shook his head. “N—no, Nog! Be a good boy, and watch the bar.” He licked his teeth nervously. “Garak, please, you're scaring my customers. C—can we take this to the back?”  
   
Garak flung him back so forcefully he stumbled and sent an entire row of glass shelving crashing to the floor in a spill of alien alcohol of various lurid colors. He cowered to shield himself from the breaking glass and scuttled into the back room, the tailor hot on his heels and feeling dangerously close to murderous. “If he dies, in addition to that Lethean,” he hissed the alien word, “I'm holding you personally responsible.”  
   
“He threatened me,” Quark gibbered. “What was I supposed to do? How could I know he'd be crazy enough to attack a Starfleet officer? Garak! You know I like Doctor Bashir. Whatever you think of me, and whatever I might be, I'm not a murderer! Please!” He placed his wrists together in that odd Ferengi begging gesture that resembled a man in cuffs. “I'll do anything I can to help you, just don't kill me!”  
   
“That insane bitch won't even let me see him,” Garak rasped. His head felt as though it would explode, and Quark's unrestrained desperation threatened to unleash his own.  
   
The Ferengi looked confused. “Wait,” he said, “Decla? Rom told me about that.” He slowly lowered his hands, eying Garak as though he had a bomb strapped to him that could go off at any moment, or perhaps as though he were the explosive device. “M—Major Kira! I bet she could help you.”  
   
“I've already talked to her,” the tailor snarled. “I didn't come here for any of your schemes. I've done everything I can short of killing the lot of them in that blasted infirmary.”  
   
Quark blinked at him, calming further and looking grave. “Listen to me, Garak. I know Rom has already told you this, but you can't do something like that. It won't help the doctor, and it'll get you put away for life. What good will that do?”  
   
“What good is this doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, gesturing sharply.  
   
“Not being in a prison colony has all sorts of advantages,” Quark said evenly. “I know you say you don't want my ideas, but I think I have something you haven't thought of. There is more than one way into that infirmary, and I don't mean any of the doors.”  
   
Garak stilled, fixing the man with a burning stare. “I'm listening,” he said tersely.  
   
_Odo  
Kira's Private Quarters_  
   
After leaving Garak, Odo stopped first in the security office and downloaded a small file onto a data rod. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use it; however, he was a careful man, and he planned for as many contingencies as he could. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Nerys' shift ended. He decided the best course of action would be to wait for her outside her quarters rather than trying to intercept her from Ops. His wait hadn't been a long one. She came home straight from work and allowed him to come in with her.  
   
“We have to talk,” he said.  
   
Turning abruptly to face him, she raised a hand impatiently. “Look, Odo, if this is about Garak, there's nothing to say. You know as well as I do what the situation is like down on Bajor right now. Any influence I had is pretty much gone thanks to Winn and all the people wanting to kiss up to her. I'd actually like to still have a career by this time next year.”  
   
“This isn't right,” he said pointedly, “and you know it.”  
   
She unfastened her uniform jacket and tossed it over a chair. “You're right. It's awful. Decla is being a royal bitch, but honestly, Odo, what's at stake? She and the rest of the staff are caring for Julian as well as they can. Garak's being there, or not, isn't going to make a difference, not if what you said about Letheans is true.”  
   
“Any more of a difference than your presence with Bareil made at the end,” he said ruthlessly. Her gut punched look hurt him, and knowing he put it there hurt worse. Nonetheless, he held his ground.  
   
She sucked in a swift hiss of air through her teeth. “How can you say that to me?” she asked.  
   
“How can you know what that man is going through and not even try?” he retorted.  
   
She shook her head and turned away from him. “He's a Cardassian,” she said flatly. “Do you have any idea what he has put Julian through in that relationship? He told him...he  _told_  him outright he doesn't love him. You'll have to forgive me if I find this sudden show of his just a little suspect in light of that,” she snapped. “If anything, it seems more like...like a territory dispute!”  
   
She could be so stubborn, so blinded by her prejudices. It angered him when she got this way, and it disappointed him, too. She was better than that. Sometimes, it took a lot of pushing to get her to remember it. “Naturally, you find it easier to believe that he's lying now, rather than in telling the doctor he doesn't love him,” he said querulously.  
   
“Frankly? Yes!” she said. “Look. I appreciate what he did about the funeral. I do. I even think that maybe in some way, it's the most selfless thing he has ever done, but...”  
   
“It's not,” he cut her off abruptly.  
   
She shook her head. “Oh, don't start! Don't even try to talk about that trip to Cardassia. You and I both know that Commander Sisko threatened him with deportation to get him to agree. Even so, I half expected that he would have just as soon shot me and Tekeny instead of Entek, if he thought it would get him something.”  
   
Sighing to himself, he produced the data rod, offering it to her silently, his look a challenging one.  
   
“What's this?” she asked, taking it from him and turning it over in her hand.  
   
“It's a copy of the transmission Garak received regarding your abduction,” he replied. “It took me a long time to find it, even longer to decode it, but I know it's authentic. He doesn't know that I have it, and I'd like for it to stay that way.”  
   
She frowned deeply. “What does this prove?” she asked, her voice taut with suspicion.  
   
“What are you so worried about?” he asked, a mocking tone rising in his voice. “You're so certain you're right. This should mean nothing, right?”  
   
With a stubborn set to her jaw, she crossed to her terminal and shoved the rod into its slot. He watched her body language closely as she read the short line of text. She caught her breath, then sagged, her head dropping slightly forward. “I don't understand,” she said softly.  
   
“What's not to understand,” Odo demanded, “ _if_  you accept that Garak actually loves the doctor a great deal more than he knows how to handle or can even admit to himself? The only way his actions in light of that transmission don't make sense is if we accept your version of what he's like.”  
   
She scrubbed a hand back through her hair. “I always assumed he was ordered to do it, some game within a game they're all so fond of. I...” she trailed off and sighed. “Fine,” she said, resigned. “I'll do what I can. I just don't know if it'll be enough. The only person I can think of who might have even close to enough influence to pull strings like this is Shakaar, and I don't think he'll be thrilled with the idea of doing something like this for a Cardassian.”  
   
“He won't be doing it for a Cardassian,” he said reasonably. “He'll be doing it for you.”  
   
“What are you going to do?” she asked.  
   
He, too, felt resigned for a different reason. “I'm going to contact Doctor Mora,” he said. “He has some pull with the Bajoran Medical Board. None of them may be fond of Cardassians, but I believe that all of them are professional enough to know that visitation protocol should never be shaped by the personal feelings of the attending medical personnel in charge of the facility. I'm also going to dig deeper into this Decla's background. There may be something there we can use.”  
   
“Odo,” she said hesitantly, “we don't have any evidence that this is personal, just Garak's word against Decla's.”  
   
“I'm sure Doctor Bashir could enlighten us further,” he said.  
   
“If he wakes up, yes,” she said, nodding. “If he doesn't...”  
   
“Nerys, if he doesn't, I'll accept whatever fallout occurs because of our actions. We're doing the right thing. That's all that matters.”  
   
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered darkly, turning to make the call to Shakaar.

**Part II**

_Garak  
Quark's Bar_  
   
Garak waited for Quark to leave the small back room to make preparations for his end of the bargain. He turned his attention to Rom. “You don't have to do this,” he said. “I hold Quark largely responsible for what happened, but that doesn't extend to you. If we get caught, there could be some serious repercussions for all of us.”  
   
“If I don't do this, you will get caught,” Rom asserted. “You're going to need me, Garak. The security protocols for the infirmary sensors are a lot more convoluted than for most of the station.”  
   
“I do know my way around a system,” Garak snapped.  
   
“I do, too,” the Ferengi said, “and the person I love most in the world isn't lying in a hospital bed right now. How's your head?”  
   
He hissed softly, wondering what had ever possessed him to tell the waiter about his migraines. “Hurting,” he conceded reluctantly.  
   
Rom nodded. “I could tell. You get all pinchy around the eyes. You really want the added stress of deactivating all those sensors, rerouting the computer so that it's not aware they've been deactivated, and creating a false loop on top of having to see the doctor like that?”  
   
“No,” he said. It made his head throb worse even hearing it spoken that way. “I just...Rom, you have a son to think about.”  
   
Rom's mouth tightened into a stubborn expression that Garak had come to understand meant he'd make no headway with him. He had made up his mind. “I do,” he agreed. “I'd much rather my son see me in jail for helping a friend get around something that's not right than for one of Quark's schemes.” He straightened himself to his full height. “I'd be proud to go to jail for this,” he declared.  
   
These friends of his were going to break his heart, he thought in wonder. What had he ever done to earn such loyalty other than be kind to this man? When he thought about the kind of life Rom had led, it made sense, but it also made him angry that someone so good would risk so much for so little. For him.  _Like Julian?_  he thought, only to immediately wince away from that sore spot. Now wasn't the time to think of such things. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he said breezily. “If we do this right, I'm afraid you'll just have to find something else to be proud of.”  
   
Rom smiled and nodded. “I have to get some things together,” he said. “You can go sit at the bar, if you like. We won't be ready for this for at least another hour or so.”  
   
“I think I've made enough of a scene at the bar for one night,” Garak said. “I need to get something from my quarters. I'll be back by 2100 hours.”  
   
“Don't take any of those pills,” the Ferengi warned him.  
   
“Believe me,” Garak said firmly, “I'm not.”  
   
_Quark  
The Promenade  
Heading, Infirmary_  
   
Quark fought himself not to scratch at the grainy dark paste he had smeared on his cheeks and forehead. As it dried, it itched fiercely. He had made a point of complaining bitterly several times during the night about being forced to such actions by the furious Cardassian, but deep in his heart, he was secretly thrilled with the scheme. Admittedly, there was no profit to it directly, unless he counted being allowed to continue breathing no matter what happened to the doctor. No, this was the next best thing, a desperate action taken by a desperate man all in the name of love. No matter how much Garak had protested over the course of the past year or so that his feelings ran shallow where his lover's ran deep, Quark had never been fooled. Now, there was no way the tailor could ever deny it to him again and expect to retain a smidgen of credibility. This was true romance at its best, and he had an important part to play.  
   
He saw the two Bajoran nurses Rom had described to him at the entrance and hastened his steps. He had almost managed to barrel right between both of them when one seized him by the crook of one elbow and the other his other. “What do you think you're doing?” the dark haired one asked, eyes narrowed.  
   
“I'm going to see Doctor Bashir,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to want to do.  
   
“Visiting hours are over,” the other said. “You'll have to come back tomorrow.”  
   
Quark shook his head. “What if tomorrow is too late?” he asked. “What if the poor doctor is dead by then?”  
   
“Then you'll get to visit the body,” the first said matter-of-factually.  
   
“You can't do this to me!” the bar owner protested. “I have rights! You Bajorans, always crying and moaning about how the Starfleeters don't respect your traditions and beliefs. What about my traditions and beliefs? What about my...well, the Universal Translator won't manage this one, so let's just say for the sake of argument, pagh?”  
   
“What about it?” the second asked, releasing Quark's elbow and folding his arms skeptically.  
   
“You'd doom me to wander the world an empty shade after death?” the Ferengi asked, looking appalled. “Don't you see? It's my fault this happened. If I hadn't been so naïve about what that horrible Lethean wanted with my friend, I never would have introduced them over lunch. I never would have exposed the good doctor to his evil designs.”  
   
“I appreciate that you feel bad about this,” the first said, trying to be reasonable, “but there's nothing we can do about that. It's up to Nurse Decla, and she says nobody gets in tonight.”  
   
“Well, where is she?” he asked, craning his neck trying to see around them. “Let me speak to her directly. I'm sure she'll understand!”  
   
The two glanced at each other. “She's on a cot in the doctor's room,” the first said. “She went to sleep about an hour ago and said she wasn't to be disturbed.”  
   
Quark eyed each in turn regretfully. “I really didn't want to have to do this in public. It's very...unusual... allowing others to see the atonement ceremony, but I'm not going to be doomed to haunt this station for eternity just because some nurse wants her beauty rest.” He raised his voice and began to sing in the screechiest, most piercing tones he could manage. He hurt his own ears in the process, but it had its desired effect. Within moments, a very angry, very scary looking Nurse Decla was bearing down on him with the full force of her gaze and her wrath.  
   
_Garak  
Engineering Access Tunnel  
Infirmary_  
   
Rom winced and immediately adjusted the volume of the feed they got from Quark. Even with his weak hearing, Garak found the sounds coming through the tiny device painful. They had been in the tube long enough for his old phobia to start playing havoc with his nerves. Rom had worked like a fiend to make the proper adjustment to the sensor feeds, but neither he nor Garak could make the move into the actual infirmary as long as they could see Decla lying on her side on the cot she had brought into the room. “Now or never,” Rom said, glancing quickly at him. “Remember, you don't have long.”  
   
“I know,” Garak said. He didn't wait to be told twice, kicking out the access ventilation grill and hoping that it wasn't heard over Quark's caterwauling. As he scrambled out of the tube, he felt a wave of intense relief. He could breathe again without the terrible sensation of walls closing in around him. He straightened and wasted no time in approaching the bed where Julian lay.  
   
_He looks so small,_  he thought. The doctor was a slender man, but somehow, when he was awake and aware, he had so much energy that it wasn't something Garak ever noticed all that much. His life force held any sign of frailty at bay. Even sleeping, he was simply peaceful, not diminished. He searched the smooth, lax features for any sign of the trouble he knew would be playing out in the man's mind thanks to the Lethean's malice. No, his dear doctor was being held down so deeply in his own psyche that there was nothing to be seen.  
   
Carefully, he reached his hand to smooth back the wiry waves of hair above his forehead. Julian felt cool to the touch, as though the energy that fueled him was already in retreat. Regret. He held so much of it that hours of time to express it might not be enough, for all that he had withheld, all that he had obfuscated, all of the pain and uncertainty he had given to this young man for the simple act of loving him. The part that hurt the worst was that he knew that even now, knowing what it might come to, he would not have done anything differently. It just wasn't his way.  
   
Reaching into his trousers pocket, he withdrew something cold and heavy. It was far too large to stay on any of the doctor's slim fingers. Even over his thumb, it twisted too easily. It could fall off, roll under the bed or one of the counters, and no one would know it was there until it was too late. “Garak,” Rom hissed from the tube, “you need to hurry. Quark can't keep her much longer.”  
   
He heard him, but there was something he still had to do. Quickly scanning the transparent cabinet doors, his eyes lit upon a roll of medical tape. He fetched it and tore off a large piece using his teeth, then wrapped the length around the lower curve of the sigil ring again and again until it formed a tight, white cocoon. This time, when he slipped the ring over Julian's thumb, it stayed put snugly.  
   
He traced a fingertip over the black, platinum inlaid cabochon, the design the ancient sigil of the house of Tain, and then bent to place a soft, chaste kiss on Julian's lips.  _I love you,_  he thought. He felt ashamed that he couldn't even allow himself to think such a thing unless the one for whom he felt so much was beyond reason or reach to know it.  _Are you afraid you'd say it if you could, or that you wouldn't?_  He didn't have an answer for that, but now at least, if Julian did manage to awaken, he would know that his lover had been there for him, that he hadn't allowed anything to keep him away, even if he couldn't stay. In one last move before leaving, he turned the ring inward. Nothing but the small lump of medical tape showed against the tawny skin. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.  
   
Sheer willpower drove him back into the hateful tube, and he and Rom pulled the grate back into place with mere seconds to spare. They crab crawled backward until they were well out of danger of being overheard before Rom said, “You didn't say anything to him.”  
   
Garak sighed softly and shook his head. “He wouldn't have heard me anyway. Let's get out of here, and Rom?” He squeezed his friend's upper arm. “Thank you.”  
   
He left Quark's Bar by one of the side doors, not wanting to draw attention to himself or run into anyone he knew. All he wanted to do was to return to his quarters where maybe he'd manage some emotional release, or maybe he wouldn't. At least he'd be alone and free to express himself without need of reserve. Maybe he'd even manage a poem. He hadn't written in years.  
   
When he let himself in, he saw that he had a pre-recorded message waiting for him on the comm. Rubbing hard at his temples, he closed the distance and triggered it, surprised to see Kira's face. Her expression was odd, but he was too wrung out to be able to give it the proper attention. Let her keep her secrets, at least for that night. “Garak, I thought you'd like to know that I've managed to make some headway on your problem with Decla. We should be able to get you visitation by tomorrow afternoon if everything goes as planned. I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner. This is the best I could do.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Hang in there,” and abruptly ended the recording.  
   
It was more than he expected. He didn't have the heart to tell her or anyone else that at this point, the issue was moot. If he never saw Julian again before he died, he had done all that he could. Being there, not being there, it didn't matter. Julian was beyond his reach. Seeing him so flat and small in that bed drove that point home in a way prior intellectual knowledge of Letheans never could. There was only one thing left to him now. It would have to wait until he knew for a fact the doctor was gone. He wouldn't risk indirectly being the hand that sent him to his grave. There was still a chance, a very small chance, that his lover would fight his way out of this situation. If he did, the Lethean would meet his fate some time down the line, after he had a chance to grow complacent. If he didn't, then Garak would soon be heading to that prison colony Quark mentioned, and it wouldn't matter to him. Tain wouldn't let him survive a week off the station, but would he at least understand? He tried to imagine his father hearing the news, and imagination failed him. After over fifty years, the elder Cardassian was still a mystery to him in most ways.  
   
He stayed wakeful through the night, staring out his star port and seeing little beyond the shades that occupied his mind, past and present intertwined. Julian was there; he wasn't. There was no part of his quarters that didn't contain memory, no part of his body that couldn't vividly conjure a touch or caress. He felt haunted by the living, or more accurately by a man in limbo. He ached to touch him, hold him. For once, he would be the one to warm a cold body and a colder bed. For once, he wouldn't hold back. It was easy to think such things when he knew they were impossible.  
   
At some point the next morning, a doze caught him unaware on his couch. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of his door chime, and his chest constricted with worry. Was this it? Were they coming to tell him that Julian was gone? He answered the door to Odo. The changeling had the decency to take him out of his suspense immediately. “I'm here to escort you to your visitation. They won't allow you there alone. I'm sorry.”  
   
So it was time for the farce, the Bajoran government's gesture of throwing him a bone and making a token move to show the watching Starfleeters that they were willing to pay more than lip service to the treaty. “One moment, Constable. I'm rumpled and I wasn't expecting you so soon. Do you mind?” he asked.  
   
The man shook his head, folding his arms and stepping to the side in the corridor. Since he made no move to come into Garak's quarters, Garak made no move to invite him. Instead, he hurried to the back, changed into one of his most flattering tunics, and combed his hair to perfection. He emerged into the corridor and nodded formally. “I'm ready now.”  
   
“You wouldn't happen to know about a disturbance at the infirmary last night, would you?” Odo asked, looking straight ahead while they walked together.  
   
“I'm afraid not,” he replied. “What sort of disturbance?”  
   
“I thought for certain you would know, since it happened after you frightened half of Quark's customers out of their wits. Does that ring any bells?” He glanced sideways at Garak.  
   
“Scared them?” the Cardassian blinked innocently.  
   
“They seemed convinced you were going to kill Quark. Of course, when I asked him about it, he denied it. However, something prompted him to become remorseful last night, to the point that he insisted on serenading Doctor Bashir from the doorway of the infirmary, since they wouldn't allow him inside. He claimed it was a Ferengi ritual of atonement and death. Ever heard of such a thing?”  
   
“I can't say that I have,” he said lightly. “It sounds very strange. I didn't think they were that sort.”  
   
“They're not,” Odo grated, seemingly content to drop the subject as they neared the turbo lift. They rode in silence the rest of the way. Garak strolled down the Promenade with Odo at his side as though it were any normal day. When he entered the infirmary, he allowed the security chief to take the lead and ignored the glares of the few staff members in his view. Decla was nowhere to be seen. He thought that she might be waiting in Julian's room and was relieved to find that she was not. His anger had yet to grow cold. While hot, he was capable of anything at all.  
   
“I'll do the best that I can to give you your privacy,” Odo said, stepping to the far side of the room and turning his back.  
   
“Thank you,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside, taking one of the limp, cool hands between his own and beginning to talk of inanities and inconsequential details of the past couple of days. Just because Decla wasn't there to be seen, it didn't mean that she wasn't watching somehow. He determined to give her nothing to feed from, neither word nor gesture that he was concerned or hurt by her keeping them apart. He acted as though he felt certain that Julian would awaken at any time, certainly in time for his birthday party the next day.  
   
As he spoke, he privately pored over the man's gentle features, the dark curve of lashes against finely sculpted cheeks, the high arch of the bridge of his nose, the well shaped lips that could purse in mischief and humor in the blink of an eye. Yes, he was beautiful, inside and out, and there was no longer a part of his body that the tailor didn't know intimately. He wished that he had more time to explore the mind. When his time was up, he tucked the ring clad hand he had held beneath the blanket, glad that at least so far no one had discovered the jewelry or removed it.  
   
When it was time for him to leave, Odo led him from the room. Dax and Commander Sisko waited in the front, each of them greeting him pleasantly. Commander Sisko assured him that they would be keeping a close eye on Julian's situation and that he would be informed by one of them if anything significantly changed. He thanked them and returned to his quarters. He had no intention of putting himself on display. It was a small station. Gossip traveled quickly. He knew it was likely that the situation was already a subject of wagging tongues. With nothing else to do but wait, he sat at his terminal and began to write. It had eased his ache years before, when he was forced to be apart from the woman he loved. Perhaps now it would do the same.  
   
_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
When he opened his eyes, he could hardly believe it. He found himself staring up into the faces of Dax, Commander Sisko, and one of his Bajoran nurses. He could tell by how he felt that he wasn't aged as he had been in the...hallucination? Nightmare? Whatever it was that the Lethean had done to him, it hadn't affected his body. As he cupped his fingers beneath his blanket, he felt something rounded and hard against his thumb. No one seemed to know where it had come from or what significance it had. He wondered if it had something to do with Altovar. Dax removed it for him and sealed it in a clear bag to be turned over to Odo for evidence. He tolerated their fussing over him and scans and found himself wondering why Garak wasn't there. Of course, he had no idea how long he had been out of it. It wasn't until the Commander left him with Dax that he felt comfortable asking.  
   
“Two days,” she said. “How do you feel?”  
   
“Compared to how I felt in that nightmare, amazing,” he said. Glancing around the room, he added, “I'm surprised Garak isn't here.”  
   
Dax's lips compressed, her eyes flashing with a level of anger he wasn't accustomed to seeing in the usually cool and collected woman. “He was here earlier,” she said, seeming to consider how much else to reveal.  
   
“And?” he prompted.  
   
“I don't want to upset you so soon after awakening. You seem fine, but we don't really know,” she said, sounding frustrated.  
   
“Dax, believe me, it's upsetting me far more not knowing what's going on. Tell me. What did Garak do?”  
   
She shook her head abruptly. “Not Garak,” she said. “Decla. Ever since you lost consciousness, she has insisted that almost no one be able to see you, especially Garak. She called him a security risk. Benjamin, Nerys, and Odo have been working almost nonstop to try to gain him access. All they managed was an hour for him a few hours ago. He says it's a personal grudge she has against him. Is that true?”  
   
He nodded slowly. “I believe it is,” he said. “I don't know the full details of everything that transpired between them, but trust me when I say there's no love lost on either side.” He was furious, all the more so because he knew that without direct evidence, he couldn't fire her or demote her for her actions. According to the strictest interpretation of protocol, she had been well within her rights to do what she had done. Of course, she had to know that, too. “Help me stand, Dax. I want to contact him, let him know I'm all right and that I'll see him soon,” he said.  
   
He did so, got himself checked out over Decla's objections, and walked the short distance to the security office to speak with Odo about his ordeal. He sat across from him and handed him the bag with the odd ring, telling him everything he could recall about his very strange experiences. When he finished his account, he asked, “Do you think he established the connection with me through that ring?”  
   
Odo opened the bag and tipped it out into his palm, an odd expression flickering in his blue eyes. “No, Doctor,” he said. “I suggest you put it back on.” He offered it across the desk.  
   
“I don't understand,” he said, accepting it and turning it to have a closer look.  
   
“I've seen rings like that before,” the security chief said patiently, “during the occupation.”  
   
“It's...Cardassian?” he asked, wanting to be sure. Odo nodded. Smiling to himself, he slipped it back into place, amused at the ring of medical tape. “I suppose Garak gave it to me a few hours ago.”  
   
“Perhaps,” Odo said, his look pensive. He offered the doctor a PADD. “You might like to see what we know about these Letheans. You're very lucky to be alive.”  
   
Julian read over the information silently. No one else might know it, but he knew why he survived the ordeal when so few others ever had. It made everything Altovar had said to him about fearing his own potential hit a little closer to home. At last he lifted his gaze from the PADD and handed it back. “Are we done here, then?” he asked. “Garak said he'd meet me at the Replimat. Considering everything Decla put him through, I don't want to keep him waiting.”  
   
“We're done,” the changeling said, nodding. “You've been helpful in my investigation, Doctor.”  
   
“Glad to be of help, and I appreciate everything you did to get Garak in to see me. Dax filled me in. It means a lot to me.”  
   
“You're welcome,” Odo said with a slight incline of his head.  
   
He couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the Cardassian at their usual table, looking handsome and comported. Garak stood when he approached and pressed his palm. As he looked into blue eyes, he saw that there was more emotion than this outward show indicated. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Instead, he took his arm lightly as the two stepped over to one of the replicators. “Are you certain you're fit to be checked out?” Garak asked.  
   
“I am,” he said. “Don't you start that, too. Besides, I have far too much to tell you about what happened to want to wait another moment. It was utterly fascinating.”  
   
The two of them sat with their food, and he described the whole course of events with the same level of detail that he used for Odo. He felt genuine embarrassment when Garak pointed out with his usual eye for the important facts that his mind had cast his lover in the role of the villain and then amazement when the man seemed to find it encouraging rather than insulting. As always there was so much more to the Cardassian than met the eye. They shared a smile and continued eating.  
   
“By the way,” he said casually, “I noticed I was wearing a little something extra besides a hospital gown when I awoke. I actually thought it had something to do with Altovar until Odo set me straight.” He held his hand out over the table. “What can you tell me about this?”  
   
“Most Cardassian iconography represents the predatory animals of our planet,” the tailor replied. “That particular species hasn't been seen on our world in over a thousand years. It was quite the fierce hunter in its day, so I hear, known for its strength and endurance.”  
   
“I never took you for the superstitious sort,” he said, touched yet also relishing this rare opportunity to turn his teasing around on the man. “Adorning me with a talisman to help pull me out of the clutches of my enemy.”  
   
“Doctor,” Garak said drolly, “you're reading quite a bit more into that than you ought. You humans are the ones with vivid imaginations and the tendency to anthropomorphize everything around you. I merely wanted you to know that I had been to see you. Of course,” he added a bit touchily, “had I known you wouldn't recognize an obviously Cardassian design when you saw it, I would have simply left a business card.”  
   
Julian threw his head back and laughed. “I can't believe you,” he said. “You're the one who is so secretive about your people that I barely know a thing. I suspect even most of that is more or less creativity on your part. I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless. I suppose you'll be wanting it back now?”  
   
He regarded him silently, his fleeting expression making Julian wish now more than ever that he could at least sometimes sneak a peek inside that inscrutable head. “No, my dear,” he said lightly. “You keep it. Consider it another early birthday present. If you like, we can even get it re-sized for you.”  
   
“No,” he said, rubbing a finger over the tape. “It's entirely too endearing that you wrapped it like this just so that it would stay on. I wouldn't change a thing. Will you at least tell me the name of the animal it represents?”  
   
“It's not important,” he said, his smile mysterious. “Why look back when so much of interest still lies ahead?”  
   
In that he was correct. The birthday party the next day, no surprise thanks to Miles' inability to keep a secret, was Dax's grandest affair yet. The Mount Olympus holosuite program was lush and fanciful, and it seemed that everyone there, including Garak, was genuinely enjoying themselves. They feasted on ancient Earth delicacies, drank rather more wine than was prudent, and chased wood nymphs and dryads through the sparkling forest, laughter ringing from all around.  
   
A few hours into it, something went wrong. The holosuite shut itself down, leaving all of them standing in a blank room with a plain grid on the walls. “Ugh,” Dax said, “I'll go tell Quark.” She trudged out with her toga balled in one hand to keep from tripping. Everyone else waited, looking around at one another and feeling a little silly without the scenery to support the costumes. When she returned, the news wasn't good. Apparently, a power coupling had blown and wouldn't be fixable in time for the party to continue.  
   
Disappointed, Julian put the best face on it that he could, smiling and thanking everyone for coming and making the effort to make the party such a success. In twos and threes, they all filed away, leaving him and Garak to deal with the small mountain of real presents left behind. As they were gathering them up, Quark entered the holosuite. “Gentlemen,” the Ferengi said, “just allow me to say how sorry I am for this. You're welcome to have a free drink at the bar on me.”  
   
“A free drink?” Garak snorted. “Your holosuite blows during someone's thirtieth birthday party, and that's the best you can do?”  
   
“It's all right, Garak,” Julian said, not wanting to make a scene. “It's not his fault.”  
   
“Thank you, Doctor,” Quark said. “That's very reasonable of you. In light of that, I have just one more thing to say.”  
   
“What's that?” he asked, feeling suddenly suspicious.  
   
The holosuite came to life around them once more, but it was no Earth scene. An arid landscape showed through elliptical windows, and at the center of the circular chamber was a platform of sorts of flat rocks surrounding a central heat source. He heard Garak hiss a sharp intake of breath at the same time that Quark said, “Surprise,” offered them both a knowing, toothy smile, and left them to their own devices.  
   
“Garak?” he asked.  
   
“It's a Cardassian style spa,” he said, too taken off guard to disguise his reaction.  
   
Smiling, Julian stepped closer and took the stack of presents out of his lover's hands. “I'm sure you're going to show me how everything in here works,” he said.  
   
Garak smiled a rare, uncomplicated smile and said, “Nothing would please me more.”  
   
_Odo  
The Infirmary_  
   
Few things satisfied the changeling more than catching someone who deserved it flat footed. With Julian occupied with his birthday party, it was the perfect opportunity to have an overdue conversation with the Bajoran nurse who had caused all of them such grief. Garak might not have been his favorite person by any stretch of imagination, but the Cardassian tailor hadn't deserved that treatment. It would've been even worse for him had the doctor not pulled through. Nobody abused other people on the station on his watch, not if he had anything to say about it. He took the woman's following of the letter of the law rather than the spirit as a particularly personal insult.  
   
When he stepped through the doors, one of the nurses on duty directed him toward the back, seeming to know who he was there to see, even if he didn't know why. Nodding, Odo walked down to one of the labs, finding the woman finishing up with a sample analysis. “Constable,” she said without turning her full attention from her work, “shouldn't you be at the party?”  
   
“I've already paid my respects,” he said. “Computer, close and lock door to infirmary lab one.”  
   
That got her attention. She pulled away from the screen and turned to face him. “Was that necessary?” she asked, arching a brow.  
   
“If you'd like for your entire staff on duty to have the chance to overhear our conversation, I'd be more than happy to open the door again,” he said pleasantly.  
   
“Is there a reason I wouldn't want them to hear it?” she asked, tilting her head.  
   
“I'll let you tell me in a moment,” he replied. “Legate Pa'Ren,” he continued. “Sound familiar?”  
   
She feigned giving it some thought, apparently unaware of how well he could read the most minute of facial twitches. “I'm afraid not,” she said regretfully. “Should it?”  
   
“Perhaps not,” he said, his turn to feign emotion, understanding. “After all, it was over twenty years ago, and I believe that you knew him as Gul Pa'Ren, or maybe even just as Feylan.”  
   
“Ah, yes,” she said breezily. “As you say, it was long ago. I'm very busy, Constable. If you have a point to this trot down memory lane, I'd appreciate if you'd make it.”  
   
“Would you like for me to open the door first?” he asked, gesturing back to it.  
   
Irritation flickered in her green eyes. “No,” she said tightly.  
   
“Then I believe you already grasp my point, Nurse Decla,” he said. “It didn't take much for me to uncover that episode from your past. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the prisoner you supposedly accidentally dispatched alive and well on Cardassia Prime. He remembered you, too, quite fondly. I wonder if those who respect you in the Provisional Government would be equally kindly inclined to discover that you put your entire resistance cell at risk by giving in to sentiment?”  
   
Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Blackmail? You? The vaunted, high and mighty, eminently fair security chief who is supposedly beyond reproach?”  
   
“You mistake me, Madame,” he said gravely. “I would never stoop to such a level, no, but if I can find that information, there are others on this station who can as well. I can think of one in particular who is probably quite dangerous when given a reason to be. In fact, you gave him just such a reason. I can only protect you so far when you go around making unsavory enemies.”  
   
“So this is concern for my safety,” she spat, folding her arms.  
   
“People make mistakes,” he said. “I'm willing to consider the possibility that your recent actions can be taken in that light. Of course, if there's another incident with similar results, I may have to rethink my entire position. I don't want to see anyone on this station hurt, including Garak. Do you understand?”  
   
“Perfectly,” she said, glaring venom.  
   
“Good, then I can set all of this unpleasantness behind me and close my case. Thank you for your cooperation. Computer, unlock and open infirmary lab one door.” As the door hissed open, he strode out, not at all certain that the woman would be wise enough to heed his warning. He had seen too many looks like that to believe she'd let things go, and he had known enough Cardassians in his time to be sure that Garak would not. The one positive thing he could say about working on Deep Space Nine was that it was always interesting. Then again, perhaps boredom was underrated.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LiveJournal on Dec. 30, 2009, this story takes place during and after the episode “Distant Voices.” It closely follows “Eye of the Needle” in continuity and probably won't make too much sense as a stand alone.


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